


The Only Thing I Want

by CrowKing



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, One Shot, Ramsay is His Own Warning, Tumblr request, jealous ramsay, possessive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-17 13:47:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17561552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrowKing/pseuds/CrowKing
Summary: Original Request: Love your BB series it’s sooo good. Could you do a modern Ramsay Bolton/reader where Ramsay is the CEO where she works? Could you bring out the worst in Ramsay’s possessiveness? Go super dark-the “you’re mine, my property” Ramsay who will beat up anyone who hurts her because he is the only one allowed to hurt her. Can he hurt her badly when she disobeys one of his rules/speaks to John?Ramsay ties her up and punishes her but she still loves him and he has a need for her-the only thing he wants.





	The Only Thing I Want

You sat perfectly still at your desk. You were completely awake and typing away at another email to someone who worked a level below you. As the CEO’s personal assistant, you did everything and anything to make his day easier. A click disrupted your focus as you pressed on a button to respond.

“Yes, Mr. Bolton?” 

“Get in here,” his voice growled at you. You thought you were an incredible personal assistant. You did as you were told. You always came through with every need and desire he had. Other CEOs and leaders have tried to poach you away from the young man’s grip, but you stayed where you were adored.

Ramsay sat at his desk with one hand going through his hair then he scratched his stubble and took a look at you. He let out one long exhale and spoke.

“Where were you last night?”

“I was celebrating my cousin’s birthday. We went to the club. I told you,” you said, taking a seat on his desk demurely. He liked it when you made it a show to sit down.

“You didn’t tell me which one. Lion’s Den?”

Fuck. He saw your friend’s Instagram. You forgot to delete the picture. You had to come up with something. You needed to do it now. 

“I-I didn’t know where we were,” you shrugged. “We went bar hopping you know? I was a little tipsy when I went in.”

“Were you? So why aren’t you hungover now?”

“I’ve become a master of dealing with hangovers.”

“Liar,” Ramsay turned his screen to you. The Instagram picture of you partying with some gentlemen around you glared at you. As if you did something wrong. “Tell me, does Joffery like his martinis shaken or stirred?”

“You’re being mean.”  
“And you’re lying. Who did you talk to last night? Hm?” Ramsay’s impatience grew. You needed to cut him off before it got worse again. You kneeled before him. Your hands rubbed up and down his thighs.

“You know I am loyal to only you.” You placed your head on his lap. His hand petted your hair.

“And you know you’re not allowed to go there.” His fingers felt so good running through your pretty hair. You felt so safe with him. “Do you understand me?”

You mumbled a sweet little ‘mhmm’, but it wasn’t enough. Ramsay grabbed a fistful of your hair, pulling it back so your face would face his. His eyes were clear as day, but the anger behind them scared you.

“I asked you. Do you understand me?” 

“Yes sir,” you answered. Ramsay allowed you to go back to your desk and continue to work. You relationship with him began years ago when you were hired. Back then, Roose Bolton was the CEO and Ramsay was his rich son who did whatever he pleased. He liked the way you looked at him. You bit your lip and stared at him as if he was some roman statue. A masterpiece. 

He took you on shopping trips. He bought you a penthouse apartment. You paid him back in your affections. Your attention. Your love. Your bed has only seen Ramsay in it. No other man touched that bed. No other man touched you. 

You dreaded Friday. While most people left work at five o’ clock, you joined Ramsay for the darker side of the business. You belonged on his arm in designer dresses with high heels. When you both entered a room, it made him powerful. He made you feel like a queen. Then, the other men looked at you and reminded you what you really were: his whore.

Their eyes followed your curves and your lines with every step you took. You could read their minds as you passed them by. Fucking. Fucking. More fucking. Their fantasies of you danced in their heads and it made you sick. If any of these men acted on their daydreams, they would be done. 

As Ramsay’s associates reported to him about trading with international countries, one of his ‘friends’ set his hand on your knee. You removed it, but he placed it back again. You did the same thing. The man was persistent. You stood up suddenly and told Ramsay politely you would be headed to the bathroom to deal with ‘lady issues’. 

His ‘friend’ followed you out the door. He made a grab at you and pushed you against the wall. You started to struggle against him, throwing fists whenever you could. You heard a roar to the side of you. The pressure holding you against the wall was gone. Your body slid down the wall to the floor. You kept your eyes closed as you heard grunts and yelling about.

A hand grabbed at you and pulled you away from the scene. The rain hit your face. It cooled you off. A hand pushed away the hair in front of your face.  
“Tell me. What did he do? Where did he touch you?” Ramsay said. 

“He made a grab at me. He kept putting his hand on my knee,” you told him. Ramsay rushed back inside. You heard his grumbling.

‘His knees are mine.’

Your friends feigned joy when you would talk about Ramsay, but secretly they texted each other. They knew this was abuse. There was no way Ramsay loved you. But he did. In his own way. 

A beautiful bouquet of roses sat on your desk one morning. You knew exactly who they were from. And you knew why. 

Saturday night, you let Ramsay tie you up and do whatever he wanted. Your whole body belonged to him. Ramsay salivated over you like a dog. He fucked you once and came over your stomach. ‘This is mine.’ He said to himself. He revved himself up again by eating you out. His tongue flicked against your precious bundle of nerves. ‘That’s mine too.’ He turned your body around and held your hips to his pelvis. 

Ramsay smacked your ass and laughed. “All of you belongs to me. I don’t care what you say.”

Monday morning came and you saw the roses. Ramsay always gave you roses when he was happy with you. Still, it was sore to sit down. He lashed you so many times as if you were his naughty schoolgirl. 

“Those are some beautiful flowers,” you heard Jon Snow say behind you. You turned right around to see the smiling gentleman. 

“Thank you. They’re my favorite. I know its cliché,” you laughed it off.

“No, I think its really romantic.”

“Do you?”

“Of course! Roses are among the most beautiful flowers. May I ask who they’re from? Your boyfriend?”

“Oh! Uh yes! My boyfriend sent them to me,” you nodded your head. You knew the feelings you had for your boss ran deep, but an inkling inside of you had something for Jon. Jon was kind. Jon was a gentleman. He would never hurt you. You bet he was good at cuddling and other things. Your mind started to wander and think about how gentle he would be touching you.

“He’s a lucky man,” Jon said while walking away. You felt your heart swoon for a moment, and then the next moment you heard a click. The same click as always, but Ramsay held down the button. Something was wrong. 

You rushed inside to check in on him. His finger was still on the buzzer when you entered the room. He lifted it when he saw you.

“You dare,” Ramsay growled. “Talk to him. Him. Of all people here.”

“He asked about the flowers.”

“Read in between the lines. He was calling you beautiful. He wanted you. I don’t share you.”

“Jon only—

“I don’t care what Jon wants. I don’t care what you want. I only care about what I want.” Ramsay stood up and paced the room. “Leave.”

“But—

“Leave. I won’t repeat myself again.” 

You waited in your penthouse Ramsay bought you, wearing the clothes Ramsay bought you, staring at the new phone Ramsay just bought you. You thought you were spoiled by your rich boyfriend. The truth was, Ramsay controlled every aspect of your life. He knew where you lived, what you wore, and who you texted. You waited on your phone for a text that Ramsay was coming home to you.

But no text came. He walked through the door, calm as ever, and glared you down. You gulped hard. You knew what was coming next. You made a run for the door and he caught you before you could slip away. Ramsay pushed you against the wall hard. It knocked the back of your head enough to disorient you, but no blood yet.

“You broke our rules. Why?” he demanded. His grip around your throat tightened. You gasped for air and struggled against his hands.

“We-we were only talking,” your voice grew hoarse.

“We were only talking once. Explain that.” Ramsay gave you his patience. He waited for a perfect answer. 

“I belong to only you.”

“That’s a lie!” Ramsay threw you down on the ground and kicked you in the stomach. It knocked the wind out of you. You felt your body being picked up again, and you embraced yourself for another shot. Instead of a punch to the face, you felt a sharp burn. You touched your face and pulled back your hand.

There was blood.

Tears gathered under your eyes. He cut you. He really cut you across the face. Blood trickled down your cheek. You backed away and held your face, trying to protect yourself as best you could.

“I don’t want this. I don’t want this anymore,” you broke down crying.

“I don’t care!” Ramsay shouted. His nostrils flared as he wielded the knife against you again. “I want this. I want you. You’re my property. Do you see all of this? I bought it all for you. I made this world for you.”

You backed into a corner feeling the walls close in on you. Ramsay took your wrists and dragged you into the bedroom. You struggled and called out to him. You couldn’t do this anymore. 

“Please! I don’t want this! Let me go!” Tears streamed down your face. It was your left wrist first. Ramsay tied the rope around it and tethered part of you to the bed. You started hyperventilating. The world around you became so small so fast. You pleaded with him again. “Please. I won’t talk to anyone ever again.”

“No, you won’t. You’ll never see anyone again.”

Ramsay stepped back and admired his work. Your arms were tethered to the bed. Your legs were tied together. All that was left was your voice. Ramsay didn’t silence you. He watched more tears pour down your puffy face. Your shaky breathing was calmed by his touch. He sat on the bed and pet your hair.

“You’re staying here with me. I told you. You’re mine and I’m never sharing you with anyone ever again.”


End file.
